


I thought that love was a kind of emptiness

by Anonymous



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Richie Tozier, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Food Kink, Hand Feeding, M/M, Oral Sex, Top Eddie Kaspbrak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22634092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Richie struggles to eat. Eddie helps him the way he knows best: by Daddy Domming the hell out of him.(And getting him to therapy, too.)
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Kudos: 237
Collections: Anonymous





	I thought that love was a kind of emptiness

**Author's Note:**

> CW for an unspecified eating disorder and questionable methods of dealing with this. 
> 
> Written for my wife; posted anonymously because I try to keep my daddy kink off my main profile. 
> 
> Title from "Hunger" by Florence.

The first time it happens, Richie's come back from a tour complaining about his weight. He does this sometimes, Eddie guesses because he used to be such a skinny little shit of a kid. But Eddie likes his belly, and the doctor says Richie's cholesterol is fine, so there's no way Eddie's letting him lose it. 

"I'm good," Richie says as Eddie starts to fork over a second slice of lasagna--homemade, with mushrooms, which Richie hated until Eddie started feeding them to him. 

"You haven't even eaten garlic bread with it, come on."

Richie shrugs. "Don't need it. Gotta keep myself svelte so people keep coming to my shows."

Eddie snorts. "I'm sorry, Magic Mike, I didn't know you were a stripper. Who's coming to your shows for your body?"

"Uh, you, hopefully. No, Eddie, I mean it," Richie says as Eddie continues lifting the lasagna slice. 

Eddie hesitates. He generally obeys Richie's "no" unless they're in bed, in which case he's relying on safewords which are their own kind of "no." But Richie's a tall guy; he needs more than one slice of lasagna even if he doesn't think he deserves it.

"Here." He lays the slice on Richie's plate. When Richie frowns, Eddie raises his eyebrows. Richie catches the look and swallows. 

"Okay," he says in a small voice. 

"Good boy," Eddie says. As he goes around Richie to get garlic bread from the counter, he just barely hears the murmured "yes, Daddy."

The second time happens when they're out to eat with the Losers. Ben and Bev are in town dress and tux shopping for their wedding, which means the whole crew is there, even Bill's wife. After all the fittings, they go to a Chinese restaurant which is _not_ a buffet because there is no damn way Eddie Kaspbrak-Tozier is eating lukewarm salmonella food. Around the table with its spinning center, they do a shot in Stan's honor, then dig in to the giant plates of family style food: dumplings, lo mein, crispy green beans, piles of rice. 

Eddie's deep in a whispered conversation with Bev about her dress ("I'll have to wear six inch heels just so I don't trip on it") when he notices Richie pushing around the same pile of rice he's been working on all night. He's making Mike choke on laughter, but there's something tight about Richie's face as he takes the tiniest bite of rice. 

Eddie spins the center until he gets to the General Tso's. He piles a plate high with it. "Oops, got too much," he says, and carefully scrapes over half of it onto Richie's plate. "Clean up, buddy."

Richie pauses mid-joke, frowning. "I don't know if I can--"

"Please," Eddie says. Under the table, he squeezes Richie's thigh. Richie takes a bite, but he keeps frowning at Eddie all through dinner.

At home, Eddie starts sneaking snacks into Richie's lunchbox, bedside table, and coat pockets. Pop-Tarts, Rice Krispie Treats, Starbursts, all the crap they ate as kids in Ben's clubhouse. He gets away with it for a week and a half before Richie finds Fruit by the Foot chilling by his glasses case. "Are we gonna talk about this?" he asks, holding it up like it's a dirty sock instead of over a foot of fruity deliciousness. 

Eddie glances at him over the top of his reading glasses. He's halfway through _Doctor Sleep_ \--Bill's recommendation--and isn't prepared for Richie's scowl. "Do you not like those anymore?"

"You can't Dom me into being fat."

"Whoa." Eddie sets aside his book and pulls off his glasses. "Is that what you think's happening here?" 

Richie shrugs. He's fiddling with the side of the Fruit by the Foot wrapper. The foil crinkles. "Kind of feels like it."

"Okay, come here. C'mere." Eddie wants to yank Richie down onto the bed, but he forces himself to wait until Richie gives in. Richie almost always gives in. Sure enough, he tosses aside the Fruit by the Foot and crawls into bed with Eddie. Eddie wraps his arms around him and squeezes him tight. 

"This okay?" he asks. 

Richie nods. "I'm still pissed."

"Yeah, I can tell."

"Are you only mad at me, though?" Eddie asks. 

"Going to psychoanalyze me, Doctor K?"

"Okay, cut it out with the British guy, I'm serious."

"Can't take anything seriously," Richie says in an uncanny impression of John Mulaney's voice, "I'm a comic!"

"Rich."

"I don't wanna fight," Richie says in his real voice. 

"Neither do I. We're just talking it out."

Richie picks at the comforter for a minute before he shoves his glasses on top of his head and rubs his face. "God, this is gonna sound stupider out loud than in my head."

"A lot of things you say do, but I still love you, Trashmouth."

Richie makes a pained sound. "I'm fat."

Eddie learned years ago with Myra and with Mom not to say 'no, you're not.' That never fixes anything, whether the person's fat or not. "Okay," Eddie says instead. Richie makes the same pained sound, and Eddie's heart aches. "Baby. I think you're fucking gorgeous. You know that. I don't have to tell you that, right?" Richie makes a damp noise. "If you want to work out or something, fine. But I'm not going to watch you starve yourself." 

"Fuck," Richie bites out, and then he's crying, these big ugly sobs from his chest. He's not a pretty crier, but Eddie doesn't give a shit. He rubs his back and makes shushing sounds while Richie gets it out. 

Once Richie's tears have slowed down a little, Eddie reaches over and grabs the Kleenex box for him. Richie blows his nose with a honk and tosses the tissue towards the wastebasket. He misses by a foot. Eddie wrinkles his nose and makes a mental note to sanitize that spot of carpet later. "Fuck, I'm sorry," Richie says shakily. "I don't even know what's wrong with me."

"Okay," Eddie says. "You know how you've been putting off therapy ever since I got gutted by a sewer clown? I think now's the time." Richie frowns. Eddie squeezes his shoulder. "At the very least it'll get you new màterial for your show. Jesus, how long have you been doing the same sets?"

"Well, I was gonna bang my psychiatrist," Richie says in his stage voice, "but then I realized she was a woman!"

Eddie stifles a groan. "There you go, buddy. Making that call on Monday."

"Fine."

"Second of all, you're gonna let me take care of you. The way I've been trying hasn't been working, and I get that, so how can I actually help you?"

Richie says something so quietly that Eddie can't hear. When Eddie frowns, Richie's face turns pink. He repeats, "The first time worked. When you fed me lasagna."

Eddie thinks back. "When you called me Daddy?"

Richie cringes. "You heard that?"

Eddie snorts. "C'mon, it's not like you don't call me that in bed all the damn time."

"You called me a good boy," Richie says. "That's what fucking did it. I don't know, it was like when--when you've got me tied up and plugged up and two orgasms in and you're telling me I can do a third even though I don't think I can." Richie buries his face in his hands again. Eddie rubs his back. It takes a lot for Richie to get himself to talk about what they do in bed, even now. "It was good like that. I like, fuck, man, I don't know. I like pleasing you. I know that's fucked up."

"I mean," Eddie says reasonably, "daddy kink is pretty fucked up in any situation. Doesn't mean I don't love you calling me Daddy." 

Richie whines briefly, then clears his throat. "Yeah, Daddy," he says in what's obviously supposed to be a super-masculine voice, but there's an undercurrent of emotional honesty to it. 

"Yeah, baby boy." Eddie kisses Richie's head. "Little better?"

Richie nods. "I guess."

"Okay. Go throw your nasty tissue away and then come to bed. Turn the light out on the way."

Richie pushes his glasses back onto his nose and bats his eyelashes at Eddie. "And then sex?"

"Maybe." Eddie swats Richie's ass as he stands up. "Only if you swear to make an appointment on Monday."

Richie groans. "Fine." He tosses the tissue in the can and flicks off the light. "Now let me blow you."

Their new plan doesn't immediately work. Therapy throws Richie for a loop; it's necessary, and overall it seems to help, but immediately after each session Richie comes home and melts down. More than once, Eddie has to push him into the shower fully clothed and run hot water over him until he stops shivering. Richie's going to a good therapist, the best one Eddie could find based on medical journals and Yelp reviews, and by nature that means he's working his way through all of Richie's trauma. 

Richie eats more little by little. They talk boundaries one night while they're cuddling post-fuck, and it turns out Richie's only real boundary is that Eddie can't make him say Daddy in public. At home, he melts the minute Eddie says, "Eat that for Daddy," regardless of whether "that" is potato cakes or baked chicken or Richie's own cum.

They get a long weekend together right before Richie's going to leave for an East Coast tour. Long weekends nearly always involve both farmers markets and kinky sex. This is no exception. Eddie takes his time wandering through various stalls while Richie talks to a small crowd of admirers. By the time Eddie's ready to go, he's weighed down by environmentally-friendly canvas bags full of food. Richie takes two and slings them over his shoulders. 

"Okay, strong guy," Eddie says, and kisses him in front of everyone. 

He doesn't let Richie in the bedroom for a few hours -- "Go practice your set," he tells him, nudging him toward the living room. "Promise it's worth it."

"Ooh, is it a biodegradable St. Andrews Cross?"

"Keep testing me and it might be."

"You really know how to treat a guy, Eds."

Eddie's a little worried about his plan. He fusses over the setup longer than he needs to: berries here, charcuterie tray here, fucking flower petals on the bed here to make his boy feel special. Richie's going to laugh his ass off at the flowers, but Eddie thinks he might need a little humor to offset his anxiety. He fusses with the pillows for a minute before he finally pokes his head out the door. 

"Okay, come on."

"Fuck yeah! Alexa, play Careless Whisper."

Eddie nearly slams the bedroom door in Richie's face at the sound of the sax solo. Richie doubles over laughing. "Alexa, fucking stop. Get in here, trashmouth." Eddie grabs Richie by the collar and drags him into the bedroom. Richie's still laughing as Eddie pushes him back against the door and kisses him over and over, but the laughter fades. When Eddie looks up, Richie's staring over his head. He swallows. 

"Eddie, no."

Eddie touches his face. "Safewording out?"

Richie licks his lips. He swallows again. "No," he whispers. 

"Okay. You ready to listen to me?"

"Yes."

Eddie reaches up and slowly tugs Richie's hair. It's not a sharp pain, Eddie knows from experience, but a slow relentless pull that makes Richie's eyelashes flutter. "Yes, who?"

Richie shivers. "Yes, Daddy."

Eddie undresses Richie before he pushes him onto the bed. It's so easy like this, with Richie in his weekend sweatpants and t-shirt. He's apparently been freeballing it. He's soft, but when Eddie strokes a hand over him, just feeling him up, Richie's dick twitches. "Good boy," Eddie tells him. Some of the tension leaves Richie's shoulders. 

"What are we doing, Daddy?"

"Get comfortable against the pillows. Sit up a little." Eddie guides Richie with his hands on his shoulders until Richie is propped up against the pillows. "Good. Glasses on or off?"

"On. I like seeing you, Daddy."

Eddie grins. "Blind fucking bat. Comfortable?"

"Yeah, I think so." Richie looks askance at the food on Eddie's bedside table. "What's all that for, Daddy?"

"Glad you asked." Eddie sits on his side of the bed and picks a few raspberries out of their carton. "Daddy's going to feed you, and if you're good, Daddy's gonna take care of you, too." Richie's dick twitches again. Eddie laughs and flicks his thumb over the head, grinning when Richie sighs. "Yeah, like that."

"Okay."

Eddie presses a raspberry to Richie's lips. Richie takes it, chewing slowly. Eddie kisses the taste from his mouth. "Good boy."

They make their way through part of the box of raspberries like that before Richie starts sucking Eddie's fingers into his mouth with each berry. It's sticky and damp, but most parts of sex are, so Eddie has no problem crooning "good boy" every time Richie swipes his tongue across his fingers to catch the pink juice left behind. Richie's chubbed up some. He's a grower, which seems ridiculously unfair for a man who's already packing an eight-inch dick, but Eddie loves him anyway. He pulls his fingers out of Richie's mouth and uses them to trace the vein along his dick. Richie whines, mouth still open. 

"You want more?" Eddie asks. Richie nods. "More of what, baby?" 

Richie glances over at the food and down at Eddie's hand on his dick before he looks Eddie in the eye. "Everything."

The charcuterie tray is slower going than the berries. The meat and cheese requires more chewing than the raspberries did, and that seems to push Richie more into his head. After his third piece of cheese, he whines and squirms. "Eds..."

Eddie pauses. "Do you need to use your word?"

Richie hesitates. "Please touch me," he says. "Daddy, please."

"Got it." Eddie swipes a cracker through brie and honey. He makes sure Richie's eating it before he turns the honey bottle over Richie's chest and drizzles it right on his nipple. Richie chokes a little on the cracker as Eddie swoops down and sucks his nipple into his mouth. 

"Fuck," Richie yelps as soon as he swallows. "Fuck, fuck, Daddy, yes, more." 

Eddie glances up at Richie. With Richie's nipple still caught in his mouth, he murmurs, "You want more?"

"Yes, Daddy, please."

Eddie smiles. Richie's pressing his chest up, pushing into Eddie's mouth, fists twisting the sheets. "You finish that whole tray, and you can have whatever you want."

The moment Richie digs in, scooping cheese onto a cracker and chewing it all, Eddie latches onto his nipple again and uses his thumb and index finger to flick the other one. He pauses each time Richie eats, he really doesn't want him to choke, but as soon as he swallows, Eddie gets back to work, trailing hickeys across Richie's chest. He rubs his face against Richie's chest hair and almost feels like purring like a fucking cat. Richie echoes the sound.

After a few more bites, Richie coughs. Eddie sits up and grabs a water bottle from beside the bed. He holds it up to Richie's mouth, keeping his other hand cupped under Richie's chin while he drinks.

Once Richie finishes drinking, Eddie sets the bottle aside and gently cups Richie's balls. Richie inhales sharply, stomach rising and falling with his breath. "Fuck."

Eddie glances over at the tray. Only a few pieces of cheese left. "Think you can do it, baby?" 

Richie squirms. Eddie carefully rolls his balls in his hand, so carefully that he's barely touching him. Richie's back arches. "Fuck-fuck-fuck," he whines. His dick smears precum on his belly. "I don't know, I don't know." His face twists, mouth turning down. "I'm sorry."

"Shh, shut up, it's okay." Eddie rests one hand on Richie's chest, then slides it down to rub Richie's stomach. "Even if you can't, I'll still jack you. Okay?" 

Richie nods. He squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens his eyes, they're huge and watery behind his thick glasses. "Tell me to do it, Daddy. Make me do it. Please."

Eddie presses a kiss to Richie's temple. "Got it. Come here, baby." He picks up one of the last cheese crackers and holds it to Richie's mouth. "Eat it."

Richie opens his mouth, chews, swallows. Eddie wraps his hand around the base of Richie's cock and slowly tugs upward. Richie gasps. 

"Eat it," Eddie tells Richie. Richie chews and swallows. Eddie rubs his thumb over the leaking head of Richie's cock. 

"Last one, baby." Eddie holds up the last brie-and-honey-covered cracker to Richie's mouth. Richie shudders. "You can do it," Eddie urges. "I know you can. Come on." 

Richie shakes his head, shoulders tensing, arms and legs trembling. He opens his mouth for Eddie. 

As soon as Richie's swallowed the last piece of food, Eddie drops down and kisses his stomach, rubbing his face all over it, even where it's sticky with precum. Richie's shaking with sobs. "Good job, good job," Eddie praises, "you're so good for me, baby, you're such a good boy for Daddy, okay?" Richie whines and nods. Eddie grins. "Good boy," he says one more time before swallowing Richie's cock down.

Richie yells. He grabs Eddie's shoulders, blunt nails digging in. "Fuck, fuck, Daddy, _Eddie_ ," he cries, heels drumming on the bed. Eddie goes as far down as he can, letting Richie's dick brush his gag reflex, before backing off to look Richie in the eye. 

"Fuck my mouth, baby."

"Shit!"

Eddie wraps his lips around Richie's cock and relaxes before Richie's hips start moving. Richie doesn't force Eddie all the way down even as his hips jerk upward over and over; he never forces Eddie further down than he can go. "Daddy, Eddie, daddy," he babbles. When Eddie reaches up to gently rub his stomach, Richie's hips stutter. "I did it, I did it, I did it for you, Daddy, please."

Eddie finds Richie's hand and squeezes it. Maybe Richie can't see how his eyes are watering, too, how a couple tears have tracked down his cheeks while Richie's been fucking his mouth. He's just so damn proud of Richie, of his funny ridiculous man, his good boy.

Richie can't always cum. He and Eddie have their ways around it, ways to enjoy sex even when Richie can't get it up. But he's hard and leaking in Eddie's mouth, and all Eddie wants is for Richie to come down his throat. Richie deserves that. He's so fucking good. 

Eddie presses his tongue against the underside of Richie's dick. He hums a little, a tuneless sound that's mostly just vibration to make Richie moan. Richie pistons forward and forward and then his legs are shaking where they bracket Eddie. If Eddie's mouth weren't full he would smile at that telltale sign. Come on, he thinks, you've been so good. 

Richie's silent for half a second before he yells, voice cracking as he comes. Eddie swallows around him over and over while Richie cries out above him. Only once he's sure Richie's through does Eddie pull off. 

Richie's glasses are missing. He has one arm thrown over his face while he trembles with tears. Eddie curls around him and tugs him into his arms. "Okay?" he rasps, throat raw. 

Richie nods quickly. "Daddy," he says. He buries his face in Eddie's hair, apparently too overwhelmed to say anything else. Eddie rubs circles on his back. 

"Proud of you," he says. Richie burrows closer. 

They lie like that for a while before Richie starts squirming. At first, Eddie thinks he's just trying to get up to piss or something, but then one of Richie's big hands reaches down and cups Eddie through his jeans. Eddie hisses. "Rich, you don't have to do anything."

"But Daddy," Richie whines. He leans back enough that Eddie can see the mischief in his eyes. He's half a second from preemptively saying 'beep beep' when Richie says, "I'm still hungry."

  
  
  



End file.
